Blue Jacket
by vampireskokoro
Summary: A simple, bloodstained blue jacket is all he has left. RoyxEd, post character death...


He tried not to do this often. It hurt as much as it helped heal him. Taking the blue jacket off the empty bed in the dark, nearly empty room. Pulling it to his chest, hugging it tightly. Burying his face in its scratchy fabric. Sliding his fingers gently over the medals, the stupid gold tassels that never seemed to serve much of a purpose, over the four gold stripes and the four little stars.

How many times had he made fun of how dumb it looked sometimes? And he'd always get the same smartass answers about his own stupid jacket. The banter between them would appear to be the harsh jibes only shared between two people who felt the strongest of animosity for each other. But to them, each quip about height, each witty remark about kissing ass, every last damn insult shared between them was their way of saying those three words. The three words that never actually left either's lips.

_What's wrong pipsqueak? Jealous you can't ever pull of something as elegant as this? _ You're beautiful.

_Shut up, you freakin' giant. _I love you.

How many times had he playfully complained about how scratchy it was? Wool was pretty cheap to come by, but it was itchy as hell. Whenever those strong arms would hold him tight, pressing his face to that warm chest, the rough fibers scraped over his skin. He'd always complain and push those arms away jokingly, acting the typical pigheaded teenager. Now, he wanted those arms around him again, holding him- tight, tighter, tightest- to that chest, into the rough wool jacket. He would gladly embrace the itchy feeling, knowing the hold was reciprocated.

_Try wearing it all day long, especially out in the sun. _

_Let me go! I shouldn't have to suffer from it._ Hold me tighter.

_I should give you an order to wear one, just so you know how annoying they can be. _I don't want you to carry my burdens.

He'd counted all the medals, all the little symbols of accomplishments a dozen times when he'd been bored. He'd always ask about them, not entirely caring for an answer, which he rarely got. But he knew what many of them were from. That damn war, that stupid massacre of innocent people. A lot of those badges that decorated the front of the jacket were rewards for the genocide. He'd woken up often to hear the screaming brought on by the nightmares that visited every so often. He would sooth the screams away while the badges glinted on the jacket wherever it was in the room, either hung on the back of a chair if they'd thought about treating it with respect or pooled on the floor if they'd been too busy to care.

_I'm sorry! _Why did they have to die?

_Shh, everything's ok. _Why did they make you kill?

_I didn't wan to… I'm so sorry. _Please, just hold me.

_No one's blaming you, calm down. _I'll never let go.

The jacket wasn't warm anymore, cold in comparison to his memories of the arms that had filled the sleeves. It seemed less intimidating, wrinkled and limp in his arms. Where had those strong shoulders gone, the powerful body that had held the burden the jacket entailed. Gone.

_Tired, kid?_

_Not really… HEY! Put me down._ Hold me tighter!

_Hmm, no. _I promise.

He buried his face deeper into the rough folds, breathing deeply. The smell had always been his favorite, even when accented by sweat from a hard days work. In the dark room, alone, the smell was like a favorite food's that hasn't been made in too long. The scent, once strong and powerful, was dim, almost gone. But he could still find it, almost masked by his own though it was.

_There's nothing wrong with wearing cologne._

_It smells!_

_I've been sweating all day. I've been outside for inspections._

_I don't mind._

The jacket absorbed his tears. He pulled the jacket tighter to his chest, trying to make up for the lack of the _person_ that should have been inside it. His hair snagged in the buttons, but it didn't matter to him. His eyes screwed shut as more tears fell, his mouth opened in a silent sob as he curled into a ball around the jacket. He could pretend to himself that the jacket was warmer, could imagine that the smell wasn't fading. He'd learned a while ago to stop lying to himself.

_The people see it as an icon. It represents the strength of the military. _

_It's not the jacket that does that._

_What?_

_It's you._

The jacket was merely a symbol, like an unloaded gun. With out the bullets to bring the impact, without the person who was supposed to be behind it- god dammit, _why_?- there was no threat. It was just a fancy jacket that anyone could wear.

Don't worry. I'll be back from the mission soon. No, I won't.

You liar.

_Wow, I didn't know you really cared, shrimp. _Do you know that I care?

Of course he cared.

_I promise, I'll come back from this. _I'm sorry, I can't.

_You'd better, you ass. _Don't you dare leave me.

Broken, bloodied, dying! That's not what he'd meant by return! He'd wanted whole, healthy, _alive_! The jacket had been stained with the precious blood, the blood that shouldn't have spilt. WHY!

_I'm sorry… But I kept my promise. I came back._

_NO! No, don't die. _

_I'm sorry…_

_Please, don't leave me. Don't'!_

_I'm sorry…_

_Shut up! Live, dammit!_

Burying his face in the bloodied wool, holding tight to the chest, listening to the catching breath, the fading heart.

_I thought you didn't like my jacket._

_Stop joking. I don't… I can't… please!_

_I'm sorry, shrimp._

_Don't…_

_I…_

He'd cried. He'd sobbed uncontrollably, holding the battered, lifeless body close. They'd taken him away, but not before he'd taken the jacket, the last thing he had left. The blood had dried, the tears had hardened until the jacket was stiff. Still, he came to this dark, empty room, took the jacket off of the bed, and remembered, all the while trying not to remember.

_You can't mourn forever, kid. Things like this happen and you just have to learn to go on._

_I don't want to. It wasn't supposed to-_

_Everything dies. And everyone has to keep going on._

_It's so hard._

_But you'll get there._

His tears stopped after a while, his sobbing stopped shaking his body. He uncurled from the ball, his face still pressed into the rough, itchy wool jacket. This was all he had left. But the smell was dying, the memories fading painfully, the badges dulling. This was his last time. He didn't want to hurt. The jacket healed his wounds but then tore them apart. He needed to stop.

_Everyone has to keep going on._

Outside, under the stars. The jacket, lying on the ground, folded neatly. He looked at it, smiled, then kicked it gently with his foot so that it lay in a clump. He took a white glove from the breast pocket and gently pulled it onto the hand that wouldn't feel it.

_Snap!_

Flames bit into the jacket, burning, blackening. The glove followed into the fire, burning all that was left. He gazed into the dancing flames, watching all he had left, the memories, the smell, the jacket, turn to ash and smoke and float into the air.

I…

The unfinished sentence, cut off by the horrible, finishing death rattle. _I love you, Ed._

_I love you, Roy._

_It's so hard…_

_But you'll get there._

A warm breeze blows away the last of the ashes, brushing them against his cheek.


End file.
